Mistakes Made
by corneroffandom
Summary: Alberto Del Rio's decisions cause Ricardo Rodriguez to be targeted by the last person he'd have ever expected.


_"You're fired." _

_The moment is stuck in his mind, the young man unable to look away as Del Rio stares at him coolly, Rosa Mendez standing behind him with a smug look on her flawless face. "You're fired, you're fired, you're fired," the cruel words echo in his head, growing in volume and disdain as he shakes his head in denial. "You're worthless, you're pathetic, you're..."_

He wakes up with a strangled gasp, fingers digging into the sheets pooling around his waist. As he peers around, sweat dripping down his face, he shudders. The hotel room he is in is empty, the bed across from him untouched. Only one bag takes up the floor, and he realizes with growing dread that it's not... it _wasn't_ just a dream. Alberto Del Rio had fired him, and he is alone.

Hating the silence, he turns the TV on and lets the late night infomercial host's babbling wash over him as he tries yet again to find some peaceful rest. He would be traveling to the next WWE event in the morning and he dreads it, not sure what's going to happen from here on.

He doesn't want to see Del Rio, Rosa, or anything that would remind him of them. But he wants to continue his career, the opportunity of competing in WWE something so many had hoped for, struggled to attain with mixed results... "I cannot give up this easily," he mumbles, sinking back against the sheets and staring up at the ceiling. "I won't. No matter what El Pa-... No matter what _he _does," he whispers, voice cracking roughly.

As painful as it is to consider seeing him again, with her, he knows he can't help it. Del Rio is no longer a friend of his, leaving him alone in this business, but he can't even consider the prospect of giving up. His dream had been his focus for so long, so deeply ingrained inside of him, he can't allow this to completely derail his path. Forcing his eyes closed, monitoring his breathing in and out slowly, his tense body reluctantly eases into the bedding and he fades back into a not completely restful sleep.

The morning dawns bright and awful as he opens his eyes and stares out at the sun gleaming across his face. He normally tries to see the best of any situation, but this one is so dreadful, he just can't quite manage it. After years of devotion and loyalty just to have it all slapped back in his face like it'd meant nothing, he isn't even sure where he's going to go from here, what to do. _I guess I'll leave it up to the General Managers,_ he thinks with no lack of dread as he begins to get dressed, trying to force himself into a good mindset for whatever may come.

He arrives at the arena quicker than he'd like and finds himself standing outside of Vickie Guerrero's even sooner, his hands twisting in the folds of his clothing. He feels ill, like he could pass out or throw up or both right here, right now, but he swallows a time or two, takes a deep breath. "I can do this, I can do this," he chants to himself, holding a hand out to knock on the door.

"Come in."

His eyes slipping closed at this, he braces himself and pulls the door open, relieved that it's silent as he enters her office. "Um. Ms. Guerrero..."

She stares at him impassively for a moment. "What is it, Mr. Rodriguez? I imagined since you were released from your contract with Mr, Del Rio, you wouldn't be back."

"I also have a contract with the WWE itself though," he explains faintly, not sure where to go, what to say to ensure he at least has _one_ job remaining. "I am here to figure out the status of that."

She stares at him, her lips twitching. "I see. Well, well, well..."

He twists his hands, certain the older woman is going to tell him that his contract had been voided, that Alberto had taken it all a step further and used his wealth and influence to convince the WWE board to release him. "Ye- yes?" he asks finally, unable to take the silence a moment longer.

"The show is booked solid tonight," she finally tells him, lips tugged up in a sneer. "Come back next week, I'll see what I can do. Or perhaps if you go to Smackdown and ask Booker T on Friday, he'll have space for you."

He closes his eyes, knowing that she's well aware of his issues with the Smackdown GM. Not that he gets along with Vickie either, but they're best friends in comparison to _that_. The thought pains him, the words _best friend_ feeling tainted now. He had thought of Alberto as his best friend for years now, and to be thrown away so callously... Shaking himself back to the here and now, he nods vaguely. "Of course. I'll do that." Sighing, he turns and leaves the room.

He thinks he hears her grating cackles as he makes his way to the exit, seeing no real reason to hang around where he's not needed or wanted.

He's tempted to return to his simple, quiet apartment in Florida until Smackdown, but the very thought of doing that leaves him even sadder so he travels on ahead to the next city in the tour to prepare for the event. Booker is almost kinder than Vickie, but he's had his own fair share of issues with the man too- especially when he was Brogue Kicked by Sheamus and the GM flipflopped between banning the move during their failed attempt at suing the Irishman, so he knows he still has an uphill battle ahead of him if he wants to continue his livelihood at all.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself from all that's gone wrong in such a short amount of time, he spends a majority of the next couple of days walking the city. The hotel he's in is quiet for awhile, since he's one of the first there, but it doesn't take long before the others begin to show up as well, all preparing for the Smackdown show that Friday. He is relieved not to see either Alberto or Rosa, the two of them seemingly content to remain in their room probably laughing at his misfortune. If they think about him at all.

He's honestly not sure which option hurts the most.

That Friday, he works up his nerve and knocks anxiously on Booker T's office. Once called to enter, he peers from left to right before venturing inside, relieved to see no sign of Alberto here either. "Eh, eh. Mr..." He pauses, not sure what to call the general manager formally.

Booker lets him flounder for a moment, eyebrow raised before chuckling. "Booker's fine, dawg. What do you need?" The whole locker room knew of his tale of woe. Many thought he got what he deserved, but some were more sympathetic. He wonders if perhaps Booker is one of them.

It's never really been a factor of what he _needed_, he was always a simple man, in need of very little. Despite not working for Alberto anymore, this still holds true. What he _wanted_, however, was always a laundry list of epic porportions. And it'd never been addressed by himself or anyone else... until now. He looks Booker in the eye and says it quite simply, hoping that his luck this go around will be better. "I _want_ a match."

The Smackdown GM watches him for a long moment, as though trying to judge his worth, and finally sighs. "Del Rio claimed you weren't trained, dawg. I can't let just anyone have matches, it's a liability to the company, y'see."

Ricardo stares back at him for a moment, expecting something like this, before pulling out a DVD of footage from FCW. "Watch this, then decide," he tells the GM as he holds out the item. He considers leaving but decides perhaps there would be more impact if he remained, watched Booker's reaction firsthand. So he does, the two of them perusing the few tag matches he'd had with Brodus, and the six man match he'd had with Del Rio and Memo Montenegro only a few short months ago.

Booker stares from the monitor to him and shakes his head in disbelief. "Where have _you_ been hidin' _that,_ dawg?"

Ricardo looks away, almost feeling shy. Only some people knew of the depths of his in-ring ability, his pure focus remaining on his announcing Del Rio through the years, so to publicly broadcast it like this... He squirms slightly before forcing himself back on topic. "So... my match?"

"Yeah, sure, dawg, I'll see what I can set up for you. We'll make a competitor out of you yet!"

Ricardo shuts his eyes and sighs, relieved. "Gracias. Thank you." Turning, he leaves and leans against the office door, trying to breathe. He's not sure how to feel about this abrupt step in his career, but he has to do _something_ or risk losing his dream permanently. Not that working in the same business with the man who'd so ruthlessly fired him will be a walk in the park, but he'll deal. It's the nature of the business, working alongside those who'd wronged you. He just hopes that it doesn't turn into some sort of feud between him and Alberto, he doubts he could stand that.

He's granted a match against Brad Maddox and, recognizing him from FCW, relaxes slightly. It could've been much worse, at least it wasn't Sheamus... or Big Show... or Kane... or Ryback...He sighs, preparing his ring gear slowly. _Let's get this party started._

The kid is fast and strong in his own way, and they're both almost equal in ring skills, so Ricardo thinks he may have a chance... until Maddox hits him high in the skull with a knee and the world tilts sideways, the younger man losing awareness just long enough for Brad to get the three count. Ricardo stirs and stares, knowing before his eyes are open that he's lost. He feels disgusted with himself and can almost _hear_ Alberto and Rosa's mocking laughter all the way back here. Shrugging off the referee's attempt at supporting him, he struggles back to the locker rooms on his own and ignores everyone around him.

Once he feels a little less humilated, he ventures outside to leave the arena and finds his eyes gravitating to the beautiful car that can only be Alberto's. It gleams even in the less than stellar lighting in the parking garage and he finds himself wondering who exactly Alberto has to baby his vehicles now, as it used to be one of his jobs. And yes, he had enjoyed it, finding it almost carthatic to dress in cheap clothes- so much more comfortable than his tux- and laboriously pour over the exteriors of the cars until they almost glowed under his fingers. It had been the one thing he would do that Del Rio could never find fault in, even after that one time Sheamus had taken a car of his out for a horribly messy joy ride.

Not wanting to wait around any longer and risk running into Alberto or Rosa, he quickly walks the rest of the way to his much more simple rental and has just unlocked it when he hears a familiar voice, his heart skipping a beat. "Ay," he grouses, ducking inside of his car and slumping down so he can't be seen as his former employer and his new girlfriend walks by, Ricardo just able to see them in the rearview mirror. It's humilating but he can't help staring, mouth feeling impossibly dry while they talk in Spanish and laugh, Alberto holding the door for her as she slips inside, as cool and beautiful as can be. He's so conflicted as they drive off, relieved in a way that Del Rio looks happy, but so jaded and dejected that it'd taken his being fired for it to happen. "Never enough," he mumbles, gripping his steering wheel tightly as he sits back up. "Just... never enough."

Time passes and he keeps trying, determined to make a name for himself as a singles competitor, no matter how difficult it is for him to adjust after spending so long as Alberto's ring announcer. He doesn't see Del Rio and Rosa again, but he hears about them now and again from gossiping superstars and divas, each word burrowing into his soul until he can excuse himself from the conversation. A few weeks have gone by like this when he's walking through the hallway, about to leave the arena after another loss, and he hears his name called out by a familiar voice. He closes his eyes and sighs, turning around. "What is it, Mr. Heyman?"

He'd not dealt with the former ECW president for months, since the last time Alberto had teamed with Punk and they'd stood together at ringside and supported their team, so he's not sure why the older man would want to strike up a conversation with him now, but he stands his ground and waits as Paul walks up to him, ever present smirk on his face. "I heard about your little falling out with Del Rio," he says, his hands behind his back as he peers at the younger man. Ricardo remains quiet, impassive at this. Enough time has passed, he's sure the whole locker room on both Raw and Smackdown is well aware of his very public firing by now. "Unfortunate, but just the way of the business, hm?" He wraps his arm around Ricardo's shoulder and tries easing him along, further down the shadowy hallway, the younger man only growing more and more hesitant and worried the further they go. "Not everyone sees it that way, unfortunately, and Mr. Rodriguez, I like you well enough... you almost remind me of myself when I was younger, with your cunning sometimes, but at my core, I'm a shrewd businessman. And this isn't personal."

Ricardo stutters, dread welling up within him. "Wha- what do you mean-" Paul says nothing, merely steps aside, and Ricardo gulps as what little light filtering out into the part of the hallway they're currently standing in completely dies away, blocked by something large and menacing, heavy breathing echoing against the walls and adding to Ricardo's turmoil. He can't speak, can't move, time seems to stop as he stares up into the cold, callous eyes of Brock Lesnar. Large hands around his throat and he's lifted, unable to do anything but grip at the vice-like hold on him, and wait for the fall. When it comes, numb darkness greets him instantly.

Unfortunately the first kick to his side brings him back to the cold, painful reality of the beatdown as it occurs and he tries curling in on himself, weakly pleading for his attacker to stop, just for another kick and another, until he feels a vicious stomp to his ribcage that nearly leaves him screaming in agony. Once more and he does, finally, the horrible sound echoing down the hallway and it's then that Paul calls an end to the torture, pulling his monster away from the downed man with sharp commands and rough touches, designed to drag Lesnar back to earth, away from the solitary mindset he falls into while issuing such horrific attacks. As they run off, Ricardo shudders and whimpers, unable to stop that sound from slipping past his trembling lips.

He's still laying there, face buried against the wall, when he hears hesitant footsteps head his way, a tall form once more blocking out the faint light. "Hola? Is someone there?"

The words slip from his lips before he can even think clearly enough to stop them, but he immediately slips back into unconsciousness as soon as he finishes speaking anyway, so it doesn't matter. "El Patron..."

When he wakes up, he's in the trainer's office and, outside of the man bustling around, there's a familiar presence next to his cot, a hissing sound like a snake accompanying the soft droning of the heater slowly filling the room with warm air. His eyes flutter open despite his reluctance to see exactly who's in the room with him, though he's pretty sure he knows already. To his surprise, Alberto isn't alone. Rosa Mendez stands next to him, a look of disgust and anger distorting her beautiful features. The more Ricardo awakens, the clearer it becomes that the hissing is coming from Del Rio himself, his dark eyes flashing in the pale light of the room.

"... I come upon you paying off Paul Heyman on a job well done? With _mi dinero?_" A choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl spills from his lips and she falters, _almost_ looking scared even as she glares up at him. "I was willing to endulge all of your flights and fancies. Let you live in the lap of luxury, buy whatever you wanted, pick whichever car of mine you wanted to drive in at any given time, I even fired mi amigo to make you happy... but it wasn't enough, was it? You had to go and hire someone like Paul Heyman and that brute Brock Lesnar to _injure_ Ricardo, who has never done _anything_ to you?"

"He was the _help,_" she hisses back at him, their tempers almost even on this matter. "He was never supposed to be your friend! An announcer who would do as he was told to ensure your victories, nothing more, nothing less! He has done nothing but hold you back since you arrived in this business, with all of his injuries and shortsightedness- leaving you vulnerable to Sheamus, and the Big Show! Why can't you see that?"

He laughs, a cold vicious sound. "And what have _you_ done for me since we decided to start this relationship? Spent my money like you honestly _need_ a hundredth overpriced red dress, or taken my ferrari out just to crash into some peasant's junker. _Yes,_ I knew that you were behind that," he says, the sneer evident in his voice as she sputters. "You think my mechanic, the one I pay so handsomely, would risk his livelihood on some _chica_ like you batting your eyes at him a few times?" He laughs again and she all but stomps her foot, face flushed a humilated red. As she rears back as if to slap him, he grabs her wrist and stops her midmotion, shaking his head. "I don't think so."

The loud squeeching that follows leaves a still dazed Ricardo wanting to curl up into a ball and hide forever as fresh pain stabs through his throbbing skull, Alberto thankfully glancing over in time to realize that the former ring announcer is awake. He moves quickly, pushing the frenzied woman out of the room and their argument continues on in the hallway as Ricardo tries to catch his breath, focus on anything but the sensation of sharp needles piercing him. He's not sure how much time has passed when finally a grim Del Rio returns, standing by his bed and staring at him silently.

The lack of communication could last forever, Ricardo's own gaze trained at the opposing wall, but finally he swallows and glances over at him, eyes tired and dull. "Why?"

"Why what?"

He can think of half a different _whys_ he wants answered, but settles for the question he'd had in the back of his mind since this all began. "Why did you fire me?" He has half of the answer already- because of _her_- but it doesn't help in the long run, why she'd wanted him gone, why Del Rio had so easily given in, any of it.

Looking both stricken and as if he'd expected this question, Alberto sighs heavily and sits on the side of the cot that Ricardo is on, staring at his hands. "A number of reasons." He spots out of the corner of his eye as Ricardo blanches and looks away, quickly moving to explain himself. "Very few of which had to do with you, mi amigo."

"Then what was it?"

"I can't tell you how many times she tried to convince me that this would be the best for us all," he sighs. "That she and I would be better off alone, that as long as you remained by my side, you would continue to be targetted by my enemies, and distract me from my goals." He catches sight of the look on Ricardo's face and hastens to add, "Not that I thought of you as a distraction. But after everything with the Big Show, and Sheamus, and so many others, all I could think was perhaps she was right. Perhaps you'd be better off on your own, away from me and my aspirations. Away from the target that I almost always ensure is on my back and, by proxy, was on yours."

Ricardo closes his eyes briefly, dwelling on his former employer's words. "I see." He wants to believe him, so badly, but it's hard to trust anything right now, when his head is throbbing and his ribs feel like they've been split in two. "Why are you here then?" The question is rude, cold. He knows as soon as it slips from his lips but Alberto barely flinches, as if he feels he deserves to be talked to in such a manner.

"I've caught glimpses of you, mi amigo. The past few weeks, perhaps when you haven't even realized I was watching. You preparing for your matches, in catering. In the parking garage." He smiles wanly as Ricardo pales, wondering if he _had_ noticed him that one time when he'd ducked into his car and tried to hide like a child. "No matter how much time had passed since I fired you, you never really seemed happy. I tried telling myself that you'd get over it, move on, that the last three years probably had held very little good memories for you, considering my temper and how many times you'd been injured, but..." He sighs, staring at his hands. "Either way, Rosa noticed my worry and she was far from thrilled. We were arguing more and more, had just argued, in fact, before I found you in the hallway earlier. I didn't piece it together, however, until I left you here to be examined and went to tell her what was going on- just to find her paying off that perro Heyman with the money I'd given her earlier for what she claimed was a new pair of shoes."

"Thus what I woke up to," Ricardo murmurs, breathing shallow as his ribs ache all the more furiously.

"Si. I doubt she intended on permanently injuring you, just enough to keep you away from competition long enough for me to forget." He shakes his head bitterly. "Lo siento, mi amigo, for my part in all of this." He receives no answer and looks up to find Ricardo has dozed off, his lips parted slightly as if he'd been about to respond. "Eh, is alright," he whispers. "You need your sleep more than I need or deserve absolution."

Ricardo isn't sure exactly how much time has passed when he wakes up to a sharp, horrible pain in his side, but he knows he's not alone- and he knows that the pain is fresh. He scrambles, trying to find a way to relieve it, but each movement makes it only multiply until he wants nothing more than to cry out, and he does so, just to realize something is stuffed in his mouth, muffling the sounds. His eyes shoot open and he looks over to find Rosa Mendez by his side, eyes flashing as she digs the heel of her shoe into his already mangled ribcage, adding to his agony with each breath. "You ruin _everything,_" she hisses at him, placing more pressure on the accessory until it feels like it's about to stab straight through his flesh.

He can barely see through the tears filling his eyes, his vision spotted due to lack of oxygen and just the agony of it all, when there's a rough yell from the door and she looks over, only having time to take a couple steps backwards before Alberto is on her once more, forcing her out of the room much rougher than he'd had been the time prior. The trainer, entering the room behind the Mexican aristocrat, catches on quickly and rushes to Ricardo's side then, pulling his shirt up to examine his already massively bruised chest and ribs, grimacing. When Del Rio returns a few moments later, he grows very quiet and very still when he gets his first good look at the discoloration of his former ring announcer's chest and torso, now made worse by the circular shape that Rosa had dug into his flesh with her stiletto.

"El Patron," Ricardo groans as soon as the washcloth that had been stuffed in his mouth is removed, Alberto tossing it away in disgust.

His eyes softening, he rests his fingers in the younger man's hair and shakes his head. "It's ok, amigo. Close your eyes. We'll discuss _that_ later." He watches, smiling slightly as Ricardo's eyes slowly flutter shut, relaxing under Alberto's touch. Once Ricardo is completely asleep, he shifts and- hits something with his foot, grimacing as it lands loudly against the wall. Looking under the cot to see what exactly he hit, he finds himself staring at Rosa's shoe- the one that had been used against Ricardo. His expression darkens into a vicious smirk as he realizes that it means she's now without one of her favorite shoes... It's tempting to go out and torch it, just to imagine how angry she'd be in the end when she realized that it was gone forever.

But, as long as Ricardo is here, Alberto's not moving. They have too much unfinished business.

A rough, all-encompassing sore feeling greets the young man as he forces his eyes open once more. He can tell the show is still going on, though it sounds like it's beginning to quiet down. To his surprise, Alberto is still sitting next to him, his eyes locked on the floor thoughtfully. He's not sure how much time has passed, but he knows that he and Del Rio still have a lot to work through, despite his having _some_ answers now. Taking advantage of being awake without anyone realizing, he dwells on Alberto's previous words and ponders his sincerity. Finally licking his lips, he forces himself to speak. "I forgive you," he murmurs.

The Mexican aristocrat's head shoots up as he gazes at his former ring announcer, not sure he'd said what he thought he did. "Que?"

"I forgive you." He smiles wanly.

"But... why? I don't deserve-"

"Yes. You do." He shifts slightly, wincing. "You do. No matter what... Rosa's agenda was, you were only trying to do what you thought was... best for me." His eyes flutter slightly but he fights to stay awake, needing to say this. "I understand."

Alberto smiles balefully at him, hesitantly reaching out and patting his hand, squeezing it slightly. "Your loyalty has always been something I marveled at." When Ricardo shifts his hand, turning it so they're palm to palm, he breathes deeply as he's reminded once more what he'd so callously thrown away for something so very pointless. "Ricardo... this may be the worse possible time to ask you this, but..."

"What is it?" he whispers, slowly losing the fight against consciousness but struggling still to look at Del Rio.

"When you're well again... would you be willing to resume working alongside me? I'm sure we can figure out a way for you to continue your singles career as well, if you want." He hesitates, watching the younger man blink for a few moments, before lifting their linked hands and pressing them to his chest. "No matter what you decide, I'll understand. I've been horrible to you, I don't blame you if you choose to continue moving past this horrible period of your career."

But there's a gleam in Ricardo's eye that Alberto thinks almost looks like surprised happiness. "Really? You... want me back?" he wonders, fingers trembling against Del Rio's palm as he breathes in deeply, wincing when his ribs protest the sudden movement.

"Si."

"Si?"

"Si," Del Rio whispers, smiling as Ricardo's face brightens. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes, El Patron. I'd like that."

"I'm happy to hear that, mi amigo," he tells the younger man, a sudden weight lifted from his chest at hearing the nickname spoken consciously that Ricardo had given him long ago for the first time in weeks. He leans closer, running his fingers through Ricardo's hair. "If you wake up and change your mind, I understand. Don't feel locked into anything, especially while you're injured and exhausted."

Ricardo's eyes are closed now, lulled by the repetitive touch against his scalp and his hand raising and falling with each breath Alberto takes. "I won't," he breathes out, then sinking fully into sleep as Alberto sighs and nods, relieved that he's found some rest away from the visible agony he's in, once more because of Del Rio and his faulty ideas and decisions.

"Gracias, amigo," he whispers, sitting back to wait patiently while his friend sleeps. He knows things can't carry on like they have, the man laying before him deserving a better reward for all of his loyalty and dedication. "I'll be better. I promise." His thoughts are slowly soothed by a growing look of peace on Ricardo's face that follows his murmurs, his eyes softening as he too relaxes. The road ahead will be long and difficult, but he has no doubt they'll recover together and be stronger than they were before.


End file.
